


The Eight Hours Are Optional

by variableIntroversion



Series: After The End Of The World [7]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bad Sleeping Habits, Cuddling, Dave's POV, Fluff, Incest, Insomnia, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Sibling Incest, dirk's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 16:17:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21323071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/variableIntroversion/pseuds/variableIntroversion
Summary: In which none of the Striders have good sleeping habits, but at least they have each other.
Relationships: Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider/Dave Strider, Dirk's Bro | Alpha Dave Strider/Dirk Strider
Series: After The End Of The World [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1528694
Comments: 5
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The irony in this is that I'm on 3-4 hours of sleep because I woke up at 6 AM, thought of this fic idea, then forewent more sleep in favor of writing. Suffer for your passions, kids. (Don't actually.)

You lie quietly on the futon, tap-tap-tapping away at your phone. You know it's late; unreasonably so, for practically anyone who counts themself as diurnal. You can almost feel the bags under your eyes growing heavier, but you don't pay any thought to the idea of sleep.

In the background, the TV drones on and on, entirely meaningless background noise that blends in with the regular takka-takka of Bro's typing. He's working on his website, you think. Updating it to accommodate whatever new interest or niche he's adopted as of late. You don't pay much attention to that stuff honestly, and you don't want to.

Granted, you're not really paying attention to much of anything right now. Not the latest Carapacian infomercial, not Bro as you vaguely register him starting to get up, not even your phone screen as you aimlessly scroll through the internet. For a few more minutes, you stay right in your doggedly apathetic head space. Right up until you feel-slash-hear-slash-half watch Bro drop the back of the futon.

Then he's sliding on top of you, warm and heavy and familiar. His weight settles perfectly against your body, his lips press to your temple. You feel his hand starting to creep up your arm, and you know that that's his signal for you to wrap up whatever you're doing. Twenty-three seconds later, like clockwork, his hand meets yours and he slides your phone away with no protest. You both know if he didn't, he would fall asleep and wake up to find you just as he left you.

As soon as your phone's tucked safely away in his Sylladex, he kisses the side of your head again and rests his thumb against the nearest arm of your shades. Still more warning than a request, though you know he'd stop if you asked. You don't, though, and soon your shades join your phone. Bro's hand cups your cheek in their absence, gloveless and gentle despite its calluses.

He kisses your other cheek next, then your jaw, the corner of your eye, your forehead, then finally your lips. It's lazy and chaste for both of you, tired affection and nothing more. As soon as it ends, he tucks his face in the crook of your neck. His hand lingers, unmoved but not unwanted. One of your own migrates upwards slowly, first along his back, across his shoulder, then into his hair. He sighs faintly against your skin as you start to play with it.

There's nothing else to occupy your mind with, in that moment. The TV provides much needed background noise and zero interest. Like a suburban lullaby. Bro's heart beats steadily against your chest, a perfect four-by-four and a half rhythm in time with his breaths. His hair is soft under your fingers, untangled and smooth as you lethargically pet through it.

Sleep finds you before you realize it's looking, like some kind of peaceful ambush predator. You slip off into much-needed nothingness without a thought.


	2. Chapter 2

He's been going at it again. Absorbed with working on a project to the point where he begins shirking basic necessities. You've taken care of some of them by bringing him food and water that he distractedly picks at. You're half convinced you could feed him troll cuisine and he wouldn't even notice at this point, but you're not looking to try your luck.

Besides, what Bro needs is not a dramatic increase in his insect intake. He needs a gog-damn shower and a solid eight hours of sleep, preferably in that order. He's been at this for nearly thirty-five hours, and it's your turn to be the responsible brother.

So you slip up behind him and rest your hands on his shoulders. Ghost light at first. Just a warning, just so he knows you're there and doesn't startle. He grunts faintly to acknowledge your existence, and nothing more. You step closer to loosely wrap your arms around his neck and kiss the back of his head. He barely twitches.

"Come shower with me." You tug lightly at him. He moves maybe half an inch and shakes his head, probably on reflex, before pausing and seeming to process your request. You kiss his head again, then give a slightly more insistent tug.

"Alright, alright, jus' lemme save this." He's quick with it, lingering until he's sure everything is safely backed up and closed out. You let go when he stands up, mostly because his next move is invariably going to be stretching. Which it is, this time with a generous amount of pops and crackles that make you worry for his spine.

It isn't a challenge to herd him into the bathroom from there. He's handsy when you strip, like usual, but that doesn't last once you both get under the warm water. It's as if it suddenly flips a switch and he remembers that humans actually need to sleep. You would worry, watching the way his eyes shut and his shoulders sag, if you weren't so confident that he won't actually let himself fall over in the shower.

You snag the shampoo and do Bro the favor of starting to work it into his hair. He leans into your touch in a way that almost seems instinctive. You aren't even sure if he realizes he's doing it or not. Either way, though, you feel this weird mish-mash of amusement and affection that makes you feel warm from the inside out, as unbelievably mushy and cliche as that sounds.

"You're like an overgrown house cat." You tell him, instead of anything as remotely sappy as what you're feeling. He cracks one eye open, slow and looking heavy with sleep, and answers with a perfectly deadpan voice.

"Meow."

You don't think you can be blamed for laughing at that. Or kissing him after. He hums quietly and kisses you back, hands resting on your waist and keeping you close. As if you're going anywhere.

The rest of the shower passes in no reasonable amount of time. Between the two of you, it takes forever to wash off. Mostly because you keep getting side tracked with lazy kisses. By the time you're both dried off, Bro looks like he might just make like a horse and fall asleep on his feet. Which is probably not a good idea in a room where there's nowhere soft to land.

So you guide him to your bedroom instead, and he flops onto your bed without any protest or fanfare. You think he's asleep already, for a moment, until you lie down next to him. Then his arm snakes around your middle and you're forcefully coerced into being the little spoon. An absolute tragedy, but you'll be nice and play along (never mind that you always do) because he's tired.

It definitely isn't long before Bro's actually asleep from there, though. He goes slack against you, heart and breath slowed down, hold on you looser. You aren't that tired yourself, but you're content to stay where you are and relax. Your phone keeps you entertained for a while, until the afternoon warmth and the comfortable position tempt you into a cat nap.


	3. Chapter 3

There's never any guarantee which one of you will crash first. You're both as bad as each other, in your own ways. You get utterly absorbed in your robotics or programming, maybe fall prey to a TV or movie binge, and time loses all meaning and grasp on your life. Your bro's no better, because once he gets started on a movie, there's always something to hold his attention. Script-writing, organizing various aspects of production, editing, soundtracks... There's really no end to it.

So it's really a complete toss-up between the two of you, who will wind up giving in to sleep first. You tend to outlast him, more often than not. Possibly because of your godhood, or possibly just because you have that extra bit of laser focus that keeps you on your feet for those few hours more. It isn't uncommon for you to finally tear yourself away from whatever you're doing to get some food or use the bathroom, only to find D passed out on the couch or slumped over the kitchen island dead asleep.

You do what few little things you can for him, in those times. Turn down the TV's volume, make sure his work is saved, make sure he isn't drooling on his notes. Nothing much. But in the rare times when you go down first, when you sink your head onto your desk for a moment that stretches into hours, or lean back against your bed while you're tinkering and shut your eyes for a whole lot longer than you expect. In those times, you'll occasionally wake up to find a blanket draped over you and some of your little favors returned.

Occasionally, you come to in bed. Tucked in and everything, with no idea how D managed to move you so much without waking you up. Frankly, you're a little surprised he can even lift you. You're as tall as he is and filling out so much that you're sure you both weigh the same. It's a mystery how he manages it, but you still appreciate those times when you fall asleep on your floor and wake up without all of the aches from staying there.

With all that being said, though, there are those rare times when you both crash together. When you, weary and bleary-eyed, will wander out of your room and find D with his head bobbing against his chest as he fights a losing battle with sleep. When you'll tiredly nod to each other and shamble to the couch or one of your beds, whichever is most convenient at the time, where you'll collapse into a pile of tangled limbs. Where you'll wake up hours later, still wound around each other, and exchange mumbled greetings and progress updates on whatever projects have consumed our lives.

Sometimes you'll separate quickly, he and you both drawn back to your work like moths to flames. Usually though, you two just take a break and stay where you are, trading words and occasional kisses. Sharing breakfast, sharing space. Watching TV and dozing until you're both re-energized and itching to finish what you've started.

And then you drift apart and the cycle begins again; long nights and early mornings, until either your work is done, or you are.


End file.
